Trouble in the Cotswolds (The Cotswold Mysteries) (11 page)

‘So I gather. Higgins told me about it. But I don’t think you’ve got a choice, have you? I absolutely must be somewhere at four-thirty, which gives us just over an hour. I can’t risk being late, so I’m going to have to drop you at the vet and leave you to get a taxi back. Shouldn’t be too difficult.’

‘But …’
I’ve got flu,
she wanted to whine. But she knew she would get scant sympathy. Gladwin had doubtless worked through innumerable viruses and injuries without complaint herself, and expected no less from other women. She probably believed, as Thea more or less did too, that the best treatment for illness was to ignore it.

‘Leave your dog in the house. Get your bag and phone. I’ll put Blondie in the car while you do that.
We’ll be off in exactly one minute.’ The briskness brooked no argument. Thea found the necessary objects, gave Hepzie a stern command to stay where she was, and slammed the front door behind her. Only then did she wonder whether she had a key to get in again.

‘Key!’ she flustered. ‘I don’t think I’ve got the key.’

‘Coat pocket?’

By some miracle, it was there, and not alone. There was a jingling collection on a brass ring. Front, back and garden shed padlock could all be accessed, after all. ‘Phew!’ said Thea.

In the car, Blondie panted and whined on the back seat with Thea while Gladwin sped through the darkening lanes. Thea’s mind remained uncharacteristically blank. ‘You should phone ahead to say we’re coming,’ Gladwin said.

‘I can’t. I forgot to bring that sheet of paper.’

‘Here it is.’ Gladwin produced it from her jacket pocket. ‘You’re really not firing on all cylinders today, are you?’

‘I’ve got a horrible headache and all my joints hurt. Plus I’ve got a temperature. I keep going all hot and cold. It’s not easy to think, with all that going on.’

‘Just tell them you’re bringing in a dog with a torn ear. There’s someone living over the surgery, I expect. We’ll be fifteen minutes.’

Thea manipulated her phone, her thumb seeming much too big for the delicate little keys. A person
answered, the tale was told and promises made. It took very little time.

‘The murder,’ Gladwin said, the moment the phone call was finished. ‘In the next house to yours.’

‘What about it?’

‘Any ideas? Any observations? Higgins thinks you’re our most promising witness so far.’

Thea’s mind resisted this appeal quite strenuously. ‘How can I think about that now?’ She stroked the injured dog remorsefully and crooned reassurances.

‘Easily, if you try. You’re doing all you can for the dog – with my help, I might remind you. All I’m asking is that you repay me with any snippets you think we should be aware of.’

Thea made an effort to comply, but nothing came to mind beyond the events of an hour or two earlier. ‘Did Higgins question Juliet?’

‘I expect so. She’s not very relevant.’

‘He thinks it was her.’

‘What do
you
think?’

‘If it was, her mother would know about it. She’d have washed the blood off her and told her to stay quiet. Any mother would.’

‘She’s not a child, you know. It wasn’t Juliet Wilson. At least, it’s highly unlikely. She was seen in Laverton by three different people during Saturday afternoon. She’d have needed to move incredibly fast.’

‘Higgins seemed to know about her.’

‘Oh yes. All you have to do is key “Stanton” into
the database and she pops up. For about twenty years now, she’s been regularly reported as lost, trespassing, causing a nuisance, in need of protection, doing all kinds of things the locals think are worrying.’

‘So what’s her problem?’

‘She was never quite right, apparently. But there was an incident when she was in her teens, something deeply traumatic that she’s never got over. Caused a lot of very nasty feeling at the time, accusations flying. I must say her church have been brilliant. Everyone rallies round as much as they can. It’s a staunchly Methodist family.’

Almost too much information, Thea felt, when the central issue concerned the Callendars and Miss Natasha Ainsworth. She acknowledged Gladwin’s generosity in sharing so much, before going back to the main point.

‘I saw the wife, Mrs Callendar, today. She came to Stanton and tried to get into Natasha’s house to collect some CDs. She seemed a bit mad to me.’

Gladwin slowed the car and gave Thea a startled look. ‘You’re joking!
CDs?
That really does sound crazy. Was she by herself?’

‘No, one of her sons was with her. Edwin. And I met Ralph this morning as well. They all keeping turning up on my doorstep,’ she finished crossly. ‘And I really wish they wouldn’t.’

‘She’s obviously the one we’ve got our eye on. We’re looking into the death of her husband a lot more closely now, needless to say.’

‘I hope he was buried and not cremated, then.’

‘What? Oh, no need for that. He definitely died from electrocution while in the bath. The question is, did someone chuck that defective radio in with him, or did it just fall in?’

‘How can you ever know?’

‘Good question.’

‘It must be tempting to see it as a straightforward case of the jealous wife killing her husband and his lover, then? Except she’s a magistrate and a school governor and a matriarch with three fine sons.’

‘Two fine sons and a black sheep, actually.’

‘Oh? I saw them all on Friday, going to the funeral. They all looked okay.’ She tried to remember what Ralph had said about his brothers that morning, but it only came back when Gladwin explained.

‘The middle one has served time in prison for fraud. He only got out a month ago. I suppose they could hardly shun him at the funeral of his father, but I don’t think they’ve treated him like a prodigal son, exactly.’

‘Now I remember. He’s a womaniser, as well. Dennis Ireland says he’s like Steerforth, I think that was the name. But talking of shunning, they shunned Ralph because he’s had flu, and his mother was scared to catch it. She’s got leukaemia, so her immunity’s rubbish.’

‘What? Who told you that?’

She paused. ‘Ralph. He said she had poor immunity, because she’d had a mild form of leukaemia for two years. Why – isn’t it true?’

‘First I’ve heard of it. But then we don’t generally investigate a person’s medical records, unless there’s a good reason. She’s still working. It can’t be very bad.’

‘Maybe she’s in remission or something. But surely she’d have to tell the court people about it? If she’s that worried about catching things, she’d make sure nobody sneezed on her during a hearing.’

‘So who else have you met since you got here? Any other likely murderers?’

‘Only Dennis Ireland. He was lurking about yesterday afternoon. You’ll have a statement from him, probably. He was amongst the people who broke in and found Natasha. There could have been a feud between them, and he waited until the Shepherds were out of the way before attacking her.’

‘And a woman called Bagshawe, right? She was in the house with you when it happened.’

‘Cheryl, yes. With a Great Dane.’ Thea shuddered. ‘Thank goodness Hepzie didn’t tear his ear off as well. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Cheryl. She’s fairly formidable.’

‘Who is she? Where does she live?’

‘You’ll have her in your system – she made a statement yesterday, as well. She’s going away today – probably gone by now. I know virtually nothing about her, but she said she lives in Stanway. That seemed a bit odd to me, actually, because there are hardly any houses in Stanway, are there? She wrote it down for me somewhere, but I don’t remember where I put it.’

‘Um …’ Gladwin had lived in the Cotswolds for less than two years, and could be forgiven for gaps in her knowledge about some of the villages. ‘Stanway House,’ she hazarded. ‘With that big orange gate affair. Cottages. Farms. Is the Great Dane woman a farmer?’

‘I think not.’

‘She probably lives in Wood Stanway, then. There are several houses down there.’

Thea thought about it. ‘There’s a place called Wood Stanway? I had no idea.’

‘There is, and if she’s in the system, we’ll have her address. I’ve been focusing mainly on the family so far. They have every reason to dislike Ms Ainsworth, under the circumstances. Except—’

‘Don’t tell me – none of them will admit to anything of the sort. She was a beloved old family friend, and it was fine with them if their dad had a thing with her.’

‘More or less. Hard to believe, of course.’

Thea veered off the subject ‘Do you know a Dickens character called Dartle?’

Gladwin showed no discomposure at this, but answered quite readily, ‘Rosa Dartle? In
David Copperfield
? Same as Steerforth – what’s all this Dickens stuff about, Thea?’

‘It seems to be a sort of game the locals like to play. What was Rosa Dartle like?’

‘Oh, heavens. Now you’re asking. Let me think. She sat by the fireplace, and had a nasty scar down her face. Steerforth did it when he was a boy, and she made a big
thing of forgiving him. Except that really she made him suffer agonies of guilt for it, all his life. That’s amazing – I had no idea I knew so much. Mind you, I always did love
David Copperfield
.’

‘I must confess I’ve never read it. She sounds rather nasty.’

‘I still don’t get what she might have to do with anything?’

‘Dennis Ireland said Natasha Ainsworth was like her. And his sister is like the Gargery woman in
Great Expectations.
And Sebastian Callendar is Steerforth. I think Dennis was mostly just showing off. I thought it was a bit rude, quite honestly.’

‘If Natasha was like Rosa Dartle, does that mean that somebody did her a great injury, years ago, and that person has now killed her, just to get her off his back? Was the Ireland man trying to say that Sebastian Callendar did it?’

‘I have no idea,’ snapped Thea. ‘No good asking me.’

‘I’m not. I’m just thinking aloud.’

‘It would make sense for it to be one of the sons,’ said Thea with a rush of confidence. ‘That would fit the Rosa thing perfectly. They knew Natasha when they were little. Did Steerforth murder Rosa Dartle, by any chance?’

‘I don’t think so. He seduced Little Em’ly and she emigrated to Australia. He was quite a bad ’un. What does Dennis Ireland know about it, anyway?’

‘Rosa …’ Thea repeated. ‘Juliet Wilson’s mother is called Rosa. What a coincidence!’

Beside her, Blondie squeaked in a clear protest at being ignored. Thea turned to pacify her. ‘Not long now, old girl. Does it hurt?’

‘Is it bleeding again?’ asked Gladwin. ‘I don’t really want blood on the seats, although it wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘It doesn’t seem to be. She’s shaking it, though. What if she starts scratching at it?’

‘You’ll have to stop her. Don’t be so useless, Thea. It’s not like you.’

‘I haven’t had to deal with a dog this size before. She’s bound to be stronger than me if it comes to a disagreement.’

‘We’ll be there in a minute, so stop fussing.’

They were approaching the complicated junction just before Stow, and Thea began to worry about what happened next. ‘Are you sure I’ll get a taxi? Will they take Blondie as well?’

‘The vet might keep her in.’

‘Surely not! It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. They wouldn’t do that. And how would I collect her again, without a car? Oh God.’ She slumped in the seat, and put both hands to her head. ‘My head hurts,’ she whimpered.

‘So does Blondie’s, I expect.’ She zigzagged through the traffic lights, and in another minute was pulling up outside a building that she evidently already knew. ‘They’re good in here. We’ve used them a few times.’

‘Personally or professionally?’

‘Both. There was a very nasty business with a horse, just a few weeks ago …’

‘Don’t tell me,’ begged Thea.

Gladwin laughed and turned off the engine. ‘I’ll help you get her out of the car and then you’re on your own. Call me tomorrow and tell me how you got on.’

‘Thanks, Sonia,’ said Thea miserably. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’

‘Not at all. You’ve given me some very helpful insights, as usual.’ She had driven away before Thea could say anything. She could not imagine what the woman meant.

The vet deftly cleaned and stitched the Alsatian’s torn ear, using a local anaesthetic and a sedative. The dog behaved impeccably throughout. ‘Give her half an hour to get back on her feet and then you can go,’ Thea was told.

‘I’ll have to call a taxi,’ she said apologetically. ‘Do you know one who’d take me and the dog?’

The young man pursed his lips, as if this was by no means a reasonable request. ‘First we have to do the paperwork,’ he said. ‘How do you want to pay?’

Payment had not occurred to Thea until then. If this was the vet that the Shepherds routinely used, perhaps they had an account and the cost could be dealt with when they came home. But Thea knew that she herself would have to find the money sooner or later. By any standards the injury had been her fault, and she would
have to shoulder all the responsibility. ‘How much is it?’ she asked.

The man sighed. ‘I’ll have to put it all through the computer. We need to go back to basics – your name and address, and so forth. Normally the secretary would do it, of course.’

‘But she’s not here,’ Thea stated the obvious.

Between them they satisfied the computer’s craving for irrelevant information, and a final sum was displayed at the bottom of a lengthy column of services, extras and tax. It was almost two hundred pounds. ‘Thank goodness you don’t want to keep her in overnight,’ said Thea with a gulp. ‘I’ll have to use a credit card.’

‘I’ll want to see her again at the end of the week,’ said the man. ‘And let me know meantime if there are any problems. She ought to wear a collar to stop her scratching it. Have you got one?’

‘You mean those awful plastic cone things? No, of course I haven’t.’

‘I’ll get one, then,’ he said with an air of martyrdom. ‘You can have it on loan. Bring it back when you come next time.’

Not once had he remarked on how ill she was looking, or expressed any concern for her being alone at Christmas with an injured dog. She knew she was pale and clammy and could scarcely drag herself about. But nobody cared. Even Gladwin had been hurtfully lacking in sympathy. The prospect of struggling back to Stanton with Blondie was taking on the quality of a trek across
the Himalayas. ‘Taxi?’ she reminded the vet.

‘I have no idea,’ he said unhelpfully.

‘Come on,’ she pleaded. ‘There must be a card somewhere – everybody has cards for minicabs pinned up. Your customers must have to use them sometimes.’

He shrugged, and then – finally – he really looked at her. ‘Where is it again? Where do you have to go?’

‘Stanton. It’s not very far.’

‘You’re in luck, then. I’ve got to go to Broadway this evening. Oh, and there’s something I should drop in at a farm in Wood Stanway. I’ll give you a lift. You don’t look awfully well.’

‘No, I’m not. Thank you.’ She almost wept on him. ‘Things always seem so much worse when it’s dark, don’t they?’

It wasn’t yet five o’clock, but outside it was definitely night already. She stroked Blondie’s thick white coat and found that she was actually weeping. The dog was so well behaved, so beautiful and misunderstood, that sadness washed uncompromisingly through her. Why was it, she wondered fiercely, that almost every dog she met gave cause for worry, guilt or grief? Did she displace onto animals emotions that rightfully belonged to human beings? She suspected that was the judgement of a lot of people around her. She ought to be shocked and outraged by the killing of Natasha Ainsworth, instead of mooning uselessly over a damaged pet. She wiped her eyes with her hand and hoped the vet hadn’t noticed. ‘We’ll just wait quietly for a bit, shall
we?’ she asked. ‘Until she’s ready to go?’

He nodded. ‘I have to go back upstairs and get ready. But you can’t stay in here.’ He looked round at shelves of drugs, hypodermics, scalpels, and other dangerous veterinary materials and winced. ‘It’s not allowed. You’ll have to go into the waiting room. I’m afraid it’s a bit cold.’

‘What about Blondie?’ The room had no soft surfaces on which a dog might comfortably lie.

‘Take her with you. You can keep each other warm.’

She forced a smile. He was doing his best, having obviously drawn the short straw and been dubbed the emergency vet for the Christmas period. Although, if he lived over the surgery, this must be a regular obligation, she presumed. He struck her as single, on the basis of very little evidence. Still in his twenties, with bad skin and poor people skills, she couldn’t see that he’d readily find a girlfriend. But what did she know about him? He was nifty with a suturing needle and did possess a warm heart somewhere, it seemed.

Then it turned out that he had no way of taking her credit card payment. ‘The stuff’s all locked down for the night,’ he said. ‘And I’m not sure how to use it, anyway. We’ll have to trust you.’

Thea just nodded, thinking vaguely that her finances would be in great disarray for the next few weeks, with this and the bill for her car. It did not seem to matter in the least.

The vet drove a big estate car, with the rear section full of plastic boxes, rubber garments and long boots. Blondie was helped onto the back seat where she slumped dazedly and again Thea squashed in beside her. The dog was yet to have the unpleasant plastic collar fitted. Privately, Thea had already resolved not to use it if it could be avoided. She couldn’t imagine how any creature could sleep wearing such a horrid thing. Surely she wouldn’t scratch at her ear once she realised the painful consequences.

At the crossroads by the statue of St George they turned left, where a sign said ‘Didbrook Wood Stanway’. Thea had automatically assumed that it led to a place called Didbrook Wood, and perhaps a smaller part of Stanway.

‘Oh – it’s Wood Stanway,’ she realised aloud. ‘I never knew there was a separate village of that name.’

‘It’s very small. A couple of farms and six or seven houses. The road peters out and just turns into a farm track.’

She peered ahead down the dark lane, seeing no sign of habitation. They took a left fork, and the vet drew up beside a gateway beyond which she could make out a big Dutch barn with its curved roof. ‘I’ll be three minutes maximum,’ he said. ‘It’s just some antibiotics they need for lambing. It all starts at the end of the week.’

‘No rush,’ she said comfortably.

They were parked near a triangular patch of grass
in which was planted a post with indistinct footpath signs. Faint light from the farmhouse windows made it visible. Just as Thea was imagining life inside the scattered houses, all doors closed firmly against the early onset of darkness, a figure hurried towards her. She assumed it was coming to speak to her – perhaps suspicious of a strange car, or even recognising it and wanting a word with the vet.

But instead, the person stopped at the post, and began to attach a white sheet of paper to it. Awkwardly, with a torch gripped under one elbow, she tied string around the upright, both at the head and the foot of the notice. As the beam wavered erratically, Thea caught enough detail to recognise Cheryl Bagshawe. Her conversation with Gladwin came back to her, with this confirmation that the woman really did live in Wood Stanway, as suggested. Cheryl and her Great Dane lived here, in a tiny hamlet that nobody knew about. Even walkers on whatever footpath it might be would probably not register where they were unless they kept a very firm eye on a map.

She shrank down in the seat, hoping to go unseen. The attaching of the notice was quickly completed, and Cheryl disappeared the way she had come. The vet appeared half a minute later, and got quickly into the car.

‘Have you got a torch?’ Thea asked him.

‘Yes, but I don’t need it. It’s not so dark as all that.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Probably under your feet. I tend to keep it down there, so I can grab it quickly.’

She fumbled on the floor of the car and found a substantial Maglite against the hump running down the middle of the floor. ‘Can you wait just a minute?’ she asked. ‘I want to see what that notice says.’ She was out of the car before he could respond, shining the light on Cheryl’s notice.

The main part was printed in large bold capitals, and occupied five lines. C
ONTRARY TO PREVIOUS INFORMATION, IT IS NOW DEFINITELY CONFIRMED THAT THERE WILL BE A PERMANENT DIVERSION TO THIS PATH IN OPERATION FROM
J
ANUARY
1
ST
. Below was a map and grid references to indicate the route of the diversion.

‘How boring,’ muttered Thea, and got back into the car.

The road from Stanway to Stanton, between the huge old trees, with no lights showing on either side, seemed distinctly sinister. There was a mist, for good measure. ‘Rain tomorrow,’ said the vet. ‘And all over Christmas.’

‘Oh dear. That’ll ruin the atmosphere, won’t it?’ She felt inane, inarticulate. Her head was pounding, and she could think of nothing whatever to look forward to. Just a long, miserable winter ahead, once she had survived another week at Stanton. What did she care if it rained? What difference would it make?

‘Stanton’s where that woman got killed yesterday, isn’t it?’

‘Right. In the house next to where I am, actually. I never met her, though. It looks like a family thing. At least …’ She wasn’t equal to the task of explaining the unorthodox arrangements of the Callendars. It wasn’t her business, anyway.

‘Family? I thought she didn’t have any family.’

‘Oh. You know who she was, then?’

‘Sort of. My mother’s in some club that she was in.’

‘A book club?’ Thea hazarded.

‘No, no. It’s a fundraising outfit for sick horses.’

‘Is your mother a vet?’

‘Actually, yes – sort of. She’s in research, now. All very leading-edge stuff. She knew Callendar quite well. His company sponsors some of her work.’

Thea knew that if her mind had been functioning properly, she would grasp all these connections and make a pattern out of them. Something medical to do with Callendar snagged at her. ‘What exactly did Mr Callendar do?’ she asked.

‘He ran a business that transports urgent medical supplies for animals. Semen for horses, as well. And blood for transfusions. There are a whole lot of new developments in animal medicine. They’re talking about organ transplants, last I heard.’ He spoke carelessly, as if the subject was only marginally interesting. ‘Not my sort of line at all,’ he added. ‘Horses are my least favourite of all the things I deal with. Reaction against my mother, I expect. She’s obsessed with them – same as Natasha was.’

Thea was relieved to have her niggling curiosity satisfied. ‘I saw it in the paper. Callendar Logistics. I wish they’d stop using that word.’

‘It’s “Solutions” that gets me,’ he laughed. ‘I suppose the people who first thought them up felt so pleased with themselves. They ought to get royalties every time a new business uses one or other of them.’

‘This is me,’ said Thea suddenly. They had almost passed the Shepherds’ house, in their belatedly absorbing conversation. ‘Thanks ever so much.’

‘I’ll help you get the dog out. She’ll be woozy for the rest of the evening. Don’t forget the collar.’

‘Do we have to? They seem such cruel things. How is she supposed to sleep wearing the horrible thing?’

‘I know they’re awful, but I’m required to recommend it. You can probably leave it for tonight, with her being so zonked with the painkillers, and see how she is tomorrow. You’ll have to keep a close eye on her and definitely put it on if she scratches at the ear.’

‘Thanks. That’s what I thought.’

Between them they got the dog out of the car and into the house. Hepzie came flying to greet them, as always, and Thea froze in panic at the prospect of a renewed attack on the Alsatian. But the spaniel completely ignored Blondie and simply bounced around her mistress’s legs, as well as giving a quick scrabble at the newcomer’s trousers.

‘Is this the aggressor?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid so. I don’t know what came over her.
Gladwin said Blondie’s coming into season, which must be something to do with it.’

‘Hormones,’ he nodded. ‘You’ll have to keep them separate from now on.’

Thea groaned at the idea of all the careful closing of doors and individual meals and walks for the next week or more. ‘I suppose I’ll have to watch out for unwanted suitors as well.’

‘She won’t be very interesting for a few more days. Didn’t her people warn you?’

‘Not a word.’

‘I think they’re planning to breed from her,’ he said with a frown. ‘I remember something about it a few months ago. How long are they away?’

‘Another week.’

‘They’ll catch her in time, then. The ear will have mended by the time she’s ready for mating. She is a lovely specimen, I must say.’

‘Much nicer than any horse,’ Thea agreed.

The vet laughed. ‘Wash your mouth out. That’s a scandalous thing to say around here.’

He was gone, with a backward glance of concern, both for Thea and the Alsatian. She closed the door on him and turned reluctantly into the dark house. All that awaited her were hungry rats, tedious yuletide television and a restless feverish night.

But there were still hours of evening ahead, before she could crawl up to bed. Ill she might be, but lying under
a duvet with nobody to bring her soothing drinks and tempting morsels was not an appealing option. She had enjoyed her father’s sympathetic ministrations as a child, but even then it had been unfashionable to stay in bed all day. Sick children of her generation were lucky to be allowed quiet days huddled on the family sofa. Working mothers meant the whole business was complicated and stressful. The sufferer was liable to be shipped off to neighbours or grandmothers, or left in the charge of a resentful teenager recruited from some distant branch of the family. Thea’s schoolfellows had plenty of anecdotes along those lines. But her own mother had been at home, more than happy to consign the patient to its bedroom and run up and down the stairs with necessities that included books, puzzles, and conversation. When her husband came home, Mrs Johnstone had handed the job over to him, like a nurse at the end of her shift.

Perhaps it was this bout of nostalgia that made Thea feel steadily worse as the minutes rolled by. She ached all over, and was very shivery. ‘It’s the ague,’ she muttered to herself, closing her eyes. ‘I’ve got the ague.’ The word enlarged in her mind, shouting itself at her, losing all sense. Andrew Aguecheek materialised, thin and dim-witted, dressed like a harlequin and jabbing a finger at her. She quickly opened her eyes again, and reached for the warm consolation of her dog.